


i'll keep your hand in mine until you die

by tobeconvincedoflove



Series: hospitals, hand-holding, and hugs [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Descriptions of Blood, Gen, Hospitals, I'm sorry I didn't even edit this it's because I watched a lot of grey's anatomy today, hurt!enjolras, okay so enjolras really isn't a character he's not conscious most of this, there's a lot of handholding idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconvincedoflove/pseuds/tobeconvincedoflove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Joly wanted to see forty-one hours into his forty-eight hour shift was Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll keep your hand in mine until you die

The last thing Joly wanted to see forty-one hours into his forty-eight hour shift was what he saw. He had been gulping down coffee with Combeferre, who was only one hour away from being done when his pager started beeping like crazy, drawing him back to the ER. Based on what the pager said, it was a new person being brought in, and it wasn’t good. 

Because this was what he had done for the past five months of his residency, Joly wasn’t nervous as he sprinted down the halls. Hell, fear was the farthest thing from his mind. Until he saw the familiar mop of blonde curls on the gurney, blood covering his entire front. And dripping down his face and coming out of his mouth and slick and shiny on his hands. This wasn’t the John Doe he thought it was. It was Enjolras. 

“What… doing… Joly… patient… need OR… prep for surgery.” Joly caught only a few words of what his supervisor had said; all he could do was shake his head, his hands threading into his brown hair. Then the doctor part of his brain kicked in, and he kicked the person currently sitting on top of the gurney and applying pressure to Enjolras’s chest off as he saw the blue eyes he knew so well snap open.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, and somehow, one of Enjolras’s hands gripped his wrist tightly, and his eyes were sharp with panic. “What the fuck happened?” This Joly directed at one of the other doctors. “You need to page Combeferre.”

“Do you know him?” his supervisor asked as he ran alongside the gurney, and Joly saw worry in the normally stone-cold face. 

“Yes, but Combeferre’s known him longer. Whatever happened, he needs Combeferre,” Joly replied. “Now will you please tell me what the hell happened to him?” It was at this moment that Enjolras gripped Joly tighter, his face set in agony as the gurney hit a bump. 

“Paramedics picked him up after a passerby called. He was attacked on his way back from the library, severely beaten and there was evidence of rape. The kid has severe internal bleeding, broken ribs, a broken sternum, and rectal tearing. And a lot more. He crashed once already.” The man’s voice was calm, but there was compassion laced in as he took in the intern’s pale face. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Joly said, as Enjolras’s hand finally went slack. The gurney was just arriving in the OR, where Combeferre was waiting, scrubbed up. 

“We can’t tell until after surgery. I’ve got this. Go scrub up,” the supervisor ordered, and Joly got off of the gurney, blinking back tears he didn’t know he was holding in. Of course, this was when Enjolras decided to wake up again and go into a full-fledged panic attack, but, as always, Combeferre was a godsend. He just gripped Enjolras’s hand and explained what was happening as the anesthesia was prepared and refused to let go of the blood-covered fingers until the anesthesia made his best friend slip into unconsciousness. Then the surgery began. 

Five hours later, Combeferre and Joly were sitting outside of the OR, Enjolras’s blood still on their hands. They had been forbidden from assisting in the actual surgery for obvious reasons, but there was still a lot from before. And they had been in the room the entire time, and were currently waiting to find out his room number in ICU.

“I have to call Grantaire.” Combeferre’s voice was hoarse, and never, even after that one seventy-two hour shift that should never have happened had Joly seen Combeferre look so tired. “He’s got to be worried sick.” Before he could go grab his cell phone, though, Joly and Combeferre’s supervisor stood in front of them, his hand out.

“Give me your pagers. Neither of you are on call for the next three days, and I’m cutting your shifts short,” he said, his operating cap still on. “You’re not going to be able to see him for a few hours, but that kid’s a hell of a fighter.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” Joly said, handing over his pager. He couldn’t even begin to explain the wall of emotions pushing against the numb tiredness he was feeling, but the doctor’s hand on his shoulder was calm. 

“Get some sleep,” was all he said before his pager started beeping again and he had to rush off. Thankfully, Joly saw the number and knew it wasn’t Enjolras. 

“Grantaire,” Combeferre’s voice said from next to him, and Joly knew the man was only a few seconds away from crying. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in this position with Enjolras; as a kid Enjolras had been in and out of the hospital due to severe asthma multiple times, and with his parents always gone it was Combeferre’s family that was there. And then there were the protests. But this was so different. This was terrifying.

“You need to get to the hospital.” There was a pause, and Combeferre but his head in his hands. “It’s Enjolras. He was—“ now the tears had actually begun to fall down Combeferre’s face, and he had to choke down the sob making its way up his throat. “—He was attacked last night, and he just got out of surgery. It’s… it’s bad. He’s okay, but it’s not good.” It was at this point Joly knew he had to take the phone from Combeferre, and when he did, Combeferre completely lost it.

“Hey, it’s me,” Joly said, and there was muffled crying on the other end. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. He made it through surgery, and no major complications arose. Combeferre and I were in there. Just get Courfeyrac to drive you to the hospital.” 

“He didn’t come home last night and I tried calling all of you but there wasn’t an answer and I knew-“ Grantaire rambled, and Joly could hear his lip quivering like it always did when he was trying not to cry.  
“I know. What he needs right now is you here, okay? I’m going to go find the others, but only after Courf and you get here. Combeferre… he…” but now Joly trailed off, before Grantaire said a curt goodbye and a promise that he’d be there in ten minutes. 

“I’m never going to get that image out of my head,” Combeferre said, grabbing his dark brown hair and putting his head in between his knees. “I’ve known him since we were in kindergarten, and I’ve never… it’s never been this bad before.” 

“He’ll get through it,” Joly promised putting an arm around his friend. “Grantaire and Courfeyrac are going to be here in about five minutes,” he said in a whisper. 

“Enjolras has got no insurance, no way to cover any of this,” Combeferre explained. “His parents cut him off after he was arrested the first time. I don’t know how we’re going to get through this.”

Before Joly could say ‘it will, I promise’, his words were cut off by the doctor returning, saying that the anesthesia had worn off quickly, and they needed to top him off, but he was ripping out his IV ports. 

“Fuck,” Combeferre said in his ‘near-shout’ voice, sprinting after the doctor. There, in a room filled with machines Combeferre knew were keeping him alive, was Enjolras, who Combeferre should have known would pull himself out of the anesthesia ungodly quickly and knew would panic with tubes down his throat and wires poking out of him. But he didn’t let any of his welling anxiety show as he purposely put himself into Enjolras’s line of vision, grabbing the other man’s hands in his own and squeezing them until Enjolras stopped flailing around. His eyes were still open, but he recognized his best friend, and calmed down enough so that the ports could be replaced in his arm, but refused to let go of Combeferre. The entire lengths of his arms were taut with the effort, but his grip did not lessen until the drugs pulled him back into sleep. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” a few of the nurses said as they shuffled out. A look from the attending doctor told Combeferre that he had to leave, too, but he couldn’t before he was 105% sure Enjorlas was okay. Medically, the intern knew exactly how not okay Enjolras was, but for now he had to be content with just smoothing Enjolras’s curls away from his forehead and folding his hands neatly and leaving the room once more. 

Now thoroughly exhausted, Combeferre returned to where he had left Joly, briefly nodding to say that it was okay. Glancing left, though, he saw that not only Courfeyrac and Grantaire were there, but the rest of Les Amis. He didn’t have a chance to say anything before Courfeyrac crushed him in a hug, squeezing him so hard Combeferre knew Courfeyrac was putting all of his words into the embrace. When he finally pulled away, he was immediately replaced with a sobbing Grantaire, who Joly had just informed exactly what had happened. 

“You need sleep. I can’t imagine… you should go back to the apartment and get some rest. Both of you. We’ll update you if anything happens,” Grantaire said through his tears, just realizing that Combeferre had been at the hospital for over two days. 

“I can’t leave him,” Combeferre replied, clutching at the artist with the wild that his best friend was completely in love with. “I know he’s got you, and the rest of them, but I can’t.” 

“You look like you’re going to pass out, chief,” Bahorel said, using a nickname usually reserved for Enjolras. “You were in the room when they were operating on your best friend and held his hand before it. You need to sleep some of this off. He’s stable, and from what Joly just told us, he’s going to be out cold for at least another ten hours.” 

But Combeferre’s thoughts were only of his best friend’s panicked hand grasping his, holding onto it as if it were his lifeline. Enjolras was so incredibly strong most of the time that seeing him like that had terrified him. But Grantaire’s hand slid into his own, and with a slight squeeze Combeferre just nodded.  
Enjolras was going to be okay. That should be enough to make him leave, right?

No. It was different because it was Enjolras. 

“I can’t.” Combeferre said, sitting down resolutely. And Eponine sat next to him, dragging his head into her lap. 

“Then we’re just going to have to make do.” Intertwining her fingers in his, Combeferre gripped them tight and let his eyes slowly slip closed. 

He didn’t know why he wanted to be a surgeon most of the time, and today he hated it more than anything. But with Eponine’s tiny hands grounding him, he let the black in, pushing down the panic that hadn’t left him since the moment his pager started beeping and he saw Joly holding his best friend together with his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. Please don't kill me.


End file.
